


The Storyteller's Future

by Dweo



Series: Storyteller [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Death from Old Age, M/M, Music, Sherlock's Violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dweo/pseuds/Dweo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future a violinist plays the most loved piece of music ever written for the violin. It is the story of the life of a remarkable man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storyteller's Future

2170

Violet picked up the violin from its case and held it up reverently. The violin caught the last rays of sunshine, the varnish was a warm red and it seemed to be on fire. It was perhaps the best instrument she ever held and she knew she could never love another more, so playing tonight was small price to pay. Her fingers plucked each of the strings and she listened carefully; everything had to be perfect tonight.

"It's time," her manager whispered.

She walked out onto the empty stage, no other instruments, no orchestra, just her and the violin. She looked out over the large crowd. She had practiced for this moment for a year and now it was time. She placed the bow on the strings and played.

The gentle sound of a lullaby, the song played to a young child, came to rest over the crowd like a warm blanket. They all fell silence at once.

Slowly the music became rowdier, the sound of children playing, of tree climbing of childhood. She could hear the audience move, wanting to join in, wanting to run too. Then, with an easy transition, the music became serious, studious.

This part always brought her back to when she just started to learn to play the violin. The music was technically perfect, difficult to play, but it lacked the joy of the first parts.

Once again perfectly smooth the music changed to a something loud, scary, bombastic. If she closed her eyes she could almost feel the war.

Then came the moment that always jarred, the music swelled and then just before the natural high it stopped and for several long seconds there was silence.

She played the part she hated to play. She could already feel the tears run down her face while she played the heavy, depressive, broken music.

She was always glad when the next part came, the part that brought back running, action, the utter joy of being alive. It brought music that would not be misplaced in the car chase of an action movie.

The little interlude always made her think of roses, weddings and lovers was short. Then there were waterfalls, broken hearts, and joy again. The music seemed to become almost schizophrenic from that moment on. She always felt this was music written for two violins, but it was so closely entwined it was not clear where one began and the other ended.

Slowly, almost unnoticeable, the music became sedate, happy, the kind of music you would listen to while sitting on a sofa in the arms of your lover, the music to grow old on.  
   
Violet let her thumb rest on the words painted on the neck.

 _For a good man_

 _JW_

  
And then without warning, brutally, the music stopped again, the violin fell silent. Just like it had done a hundred years ago at the grave of an old man.

2070

Sherlock stood at the foot of the fresh grave and played the last tones of John's life way. His thumb, crooked in age, rested on the words he knew were there on the neck of the violin. And he smiled because he knew it wouldn't be long.


End file.
